


Blink of the Eye

by Evil_Little_Dog



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Canon - Manga, Comfort Sex, Community: fandom_stocking, Ishbal | Ishval, M/M, Male Slash, Missing Scene, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:01:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Little_Dog/pseuds/Evil_Little_Dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary:  Roy needs something that only Maes can supply.<br/>Disclaimer:  Arakawa owns all.  And would probably disapprove.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blink of the Eye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cornerofmadness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/gifts).



The Ishbalan desert seemed to swallow up everything. The red sun overhead bleached hair and clothes and burnt skin, and the nights ate any warmth left behind with the eagerness of a glutton. Sand got into everything, folds of clothing, boots, and hair, and scraped flesh raw. Wind turned fine grit into tiny daggers, whipping across bare flesh, tearing at it like claws.

That was just the land. It bore strange fruit; creatures that carried poison in their teeth or their stingers; people who knew how to vanish in the dunes and survive the blistering heat and the bone-chilling cold. People who rose up with weapons of their own, ruby eyes blazing and mouths shouting.

It didn’t save them. Alchemy was the great destroyer, taking out city blocks in the blink of an eye. Better than bullets, which had to be replaced, shipped from back home at great cost. Alchemy’s only price was the toll it took on the person welding it. For some, the toll was nothing. They strode out into the desert like gods laying waste to a sinning world, destroying everything before them, sending it down to the sand, leaving blood and rubble in their wake. When they returned at the end of a mission, they celebrated their kills.

Roy Mustang wasn’t sure how they could do it. Well, he knew. He did it himself, at least partly, walking ahead of his unit, snapping his fingers and sending flames lashing out at everything standing before him – building, beast, human – Ishbal was an annihilation. The alchemists had been held back for almost a decade, and finally had been sent in to mop up everything. The finale was set up to happen within the next few days, just as soon as word came down from on high. Roy expected the Ishbalan body count to break all previous records. His own men were still cheering him on, that he’d managed to keep them safe within this hell. It was almost as if they didn’t realize a bullet could take him out just as easily as it would them. Alchemists weren’t gods, even if their powers might make them seem that way.

He stared at the fire flickering in front of a group of soldiers, wondering if they realized how easy it would be in for someone to pick them off. Their silhouettes showed as black targets against the flames. Swallowing, Roy turned away from fake comradeship, seeking something else. Something that wouldn’t be over in a second.

He’d never been good at skulking or sneaking, preferring to make a spectacle of himself, or so his mother said, usually cuffing him upside the head as she did. Creeping around a military campsite wasn’t the best of ideas, anyway. A trigger-happy soldier could take him out by accident. It didn’t mean Roy wanted anyone to know where he was going, though. It could only lead to problems he didn’t want to face. Still, he couldn’t stay away, not any longer. Not when he needed something, someone, a way of blotting out the war, and the lightning flash of fire, the screams, and the smell of cooked flesh. The taste of fat on his lips, carried by the wind and left behind from his own particular attack of flame alchemy.

He knocked lightly on the center pole of a nondescript tent, hearing a soft rustle of someone inside. The faint light of the moon slid over Hughes’s glasses, silvering the lenses. He opened the flap of the tent a little wider, giving Roy space to enter.

The small space inside was warmer than outside, though not by much. Still, Roy basked in that heat, and the eyes watching him as he stood near the doorway. He let his overcoat fall from his shoulders to the rough canvas floor, stripping the military jacket off and dropping it. Crossing the floor in two strides, Roy caught hold of Maes’s shoulders, kissing him hard, pushing him back against the cot. “I need you,” he breathed, tearing at the soft cotton shirt covering Maes’s chest.

Maes wrapped him in his arms, tight and hard, dragging Roy’s body down on top of his own. “Anything you want,” he whispered as Roy took his glasses, folding them delicately and setting them under the cot to keep them safe. Roy sucked on Maes’s lower lip, his mouth skimming down his lover’s rough skin to his larynx, mouthing it. His hands snaked under Maes’s shirt, feeling muscles rippling beneath his hands. Maes groaned, his hips arching up into Roy’s, and Roy reveled in the sensation of his own heat, trapped in the wool of his uniform. He stripped, flinging his clothing from his body, and, panting, fought with the buttons on Maes’s pants. Maes helped him by lifting his hips, biting on the webbing of his fingers to keep from shouting when Roy swallowed his dick down to the root. Roy tasted bitter pre-cum, and had to fight with himself not to devour Maes then and there. Instead, he straddled Maes’s hips, resting his hands on Maes’s chest. “I need you,” he whispered again, the shaft of his cock brushing against Maes’s.

Swallowing, Maes nodded, running his palms up Roy’s thighs. He clasped their shafts together, rubbing them rough, and Roy’s head fell back, his mouth open in a silent moan. “Rough, Maes,” he whispered. “Fuck me hard.”

Maes’s mouth curled, and he whispered, “Trade places, and I’ll fuck you into the sand.”

Shuddering, Roy obeyed, rolling onto the cot and lifting his hips to give Maes better access. It would hurt, he knew, and he’d still feel it tomorrow.

Pain and pleasure mixed together, it’d last longer than the blink of an eye.


End file.
